by C. C. Wiley
“What knowledge of courage have you, Robert?” Clarice asked.
Robert withdrew his attention from Ranulf to pin his glare on her. “I wouldn’t hide behind a harlot’s skirts.”
“Is that not what you did by hiding behind your mother?” she shot back. “Look where it has taken you. What more shall you think to do to the Margrave name? You are now its lord and yet you strive to destroy it.”
“I was forced to take my vengeance against king and swan.” His rage thundered over Clarice and Ranulf. “They took everything. Henry took my Mary and gave her to another.”
“Our king united Sedgewic and the Dunley family by our marriage,” Ranulf said.
Robert sneered, pointing to Ranulf. “This one took what was not his. He knew how she despised his touch, yet he stole her away from the court. And still he could not stop us.”
“Bastard.” Ranulf shot Clarice a warning glance before pushing her behind him.
“Look at you, Clarice,” Robert persisted. “Why do you hide when ’tis you I am saving from this wretch’s touch? I may have failed Mary, but I shall not fail you.” Desperation gleamed in his eyes. “I realize I was wrong to threaten your life. Come with me. I shall shower you with the wealth of France.”
“I’ll never leave with you.”
“’Tis where you belong. By my side. The two of us together.”
“Not while there is life within me, Robert of Margrave.” Ranulf shifted his position and, despite her entreaty, he became her shield. “You’ve taken on a battle you will never win.”
“You can be nothing more than a brother to me.” Clarice stepped out, laying her hand atop the crook of Ranulf’s elbow. “’Tis him I love. Not you.”
“Knight’s whore.” Robert wiped his mouth with the back of a trembling hand. “Soon,” he said, “you, too, will be breeding with his spawn. Will I have to cut it out as I did the other one? Another bastard of his in the world? Won’t repeat my mother’s mistake. I’ll make certain ’tis dead before its first breath.”
“A plague on your rotting soul,” Ranulf shouted. “Mary was my wife in the eyes of God and king.”
“She was mine.”
Ranulf stepped forward, shortening the distance between them. “If you loved her as you say, she didn’t have to die.”
“Your empty promises turned her head.” Robert reared back, as if clarity blinded his eyes. “You don’t know what her last words were to me.” He tapped his lips with the tip of his finger. “I must have a moment to ponder what would cause you more pain: to know that she spread her thighs and shared your bed with me or that her foolishness had to be stopped when she thought to go to you and beg your forgiveness?”
“Devil’s spawn,” Ranulf growled. “I will cut out your liver and feed it to you.”
Robert blinked in response, but the tip of his sword did not waver. “Found her in the stables. Said she had a change of heart. Selfish bitch didn’t care that it didn’t sit well with my plans. She needed a rough wooing to correct her thinking. Yes, she did.” He paused, pointing to Ranulf’s scar. “That night. Unfortunate timing. You arrived earlier than expected. The damage to our sweet Mary had already been done. Milk spilt. Eggs broken.” He stroked his temple. “A parting gift from me to you. Something to help you remember your failure in protecting those you love.”
Robert’s smile widened. “Soon you and King Henry will know firsthand of loss. France and I will defeat you. You and your Knights of the Swan will exist no more. Worms will feast upon your flesh. England will be another jewel in the crown of France.”
Clarice’s fingers tightened around Ranulf’s arm. She pressed into his side to gain his attention. He did not heed her touch and tried to shake her loose. He stepped toward the tip of Robert’s blade.
“You will have to go through me before you can lay your hand on Clarice or England.”
Robert’s sword arm trembled as if it wearied from the weight. The blade dipped and shivered before he could right it again. He took a half step back as Ranulf pressed his advantage. “Think you that since you are a Knight of the Swan you can defeat a blade?”
“No,” Ranulf said. “I believe that I, a common man, will defeat you.”
Robert’s eyes widened as he realized he had become the prey. “Advance no more,” he cautioned. “Or I shall end your life here and now.”
Ranulf took another step closer. His teeth flashed in the firelight for an instant before he struck out, trapping the steel between the palms of his hands. “Lay down your weapon.”
Robert renewed his grip and held the hilt with both hands. He strained to escape Ranulf’s hold. “You shall not block my path.”
“Don’t be a fool. Look around you. Your bridges of retreat are burned.”
Robert’s sword arm sagged as he turned his head to the left and then to the right. “’Tis a lie.”
Darrick and Nathan stood at the edge of the camp. They held their swords at the ready.
She did not dare distract the knights from their quarry and quashed the need to ask where they had hidden young Hamish.
“Robert of Margrave,” Darrick called out.
Nathan’s grin stretched as wide as a feral cat’s with a basket of fish. “Your man Harald sings a pretty tune. We apprehended your French contacts before they left Southampton.”
“Consider yourself warned,” Darrick said. With a jerk of his chin, he pointed to the surrounding trees. “The king’s finest archers have stretched their bows. They await your slightest movement.”
Ranulf took the sword from Robert’s grasp and announced, with finality in his tone, “In the name of King Henry V, you are under arrest.”
Relieved Robert could do no harm, Clarice bent down and picked up Ranulf’s sword. She heard Robert’s roar as he barreled past Ranulf, a dagger clutched in his hand. Her eye caught the flash of a small form hiding in the bushes, directly in Robert’s path. The familiar round face and tousled hair. Hamish!
Clarice fisted the hilt of the sword. With all her might, she arched the heavy weapon and slashed it through the air. The pounding in her ears muffled the sound of men yelling for someone to stop. Her arms jerked from the impact of blade against body. Fire raced up her arms and into her shoulders.
Her fingers uncurled. The sword dropped to the ground. A cloud of dirt billowed up from the impact. Robert’s knees crumpled. His confused gaze caught hers and held before he fell to the earth.
Chapter 37
Smoke lifted and swirled overhead, filling the tavern. The smell of sweat and salted meats pinched Clarice’s nostrils. Voluptuous women, breasts clinging to their gaping bodices, fisted tankards of ale and maneuvered through the throng of boisterous men. Female squeals carried over the din of merrymaking. A round rump pinched, a breast fondled, and the sound of coin hitting the table rattled the senses.
Clarice shifted her legs and remained seated on the bench. The wide planks bent and bounced as men came and went. She leaned her forearms on the surface of the rough wooden table and examined her hands in the dim light. It had taken hours of scrubbing to remove all traces of Robert’s blood. Had she done the right thing? Even now, the man who commanded all of England to do his bidding was deciding her fate.
King Henry had barely acknowledged her when he came marching through as if he were a wandering soldier. Had Ranulf not motioned her to keep silent, she would never have known the king had passed with a simple nod of his head.
No groveling of men. No kissing his feet. No bending of the knee. The king commanded honor and allegiance from his countrymen. His people of England. His Knights of the Swan.
She fidgeted while she waited for Ranulf’s return. She leaned to one side and peeked around the edges of the drawn curtain. The king’s men filled the alcove. Men, both short and tall, stood shoulder to shoulder as they bent over the table. Ranulf’s head of auburn curls lifted, as if he had heard his named called. He smiled, his gaze reaching out to her, and then returned his attention to the man who spok
e at his side.
Clarice found the courage to sit and await her fate. She had not seen Darrick or Nathan since they’d taken Robert away in manacles. He was barely able to walk under his own power, yet he had enough hatred in his spirit to curse her and spit on the dirt by her feet. She prayed King Henry would grant her protection, even though his patience with her family had been destroyed at Robert’s hand.
Clarice grasped the small amount of peace she had gained from their journey and held it to her heart as if it were a priceless jewel. In her father’s truth, she had found lies amid reality. In searching for her past, she had not found perfection but a mother’s love nonetheless. In her desire to leave Margrave and make a life of her own, she had discovered a strength she never had known she possessed. And she had found someone to love.
Her newly found knowledge was bittersweet. She had found a life, though ’twas not hers to hold. Plans were being made that might soon carry her love out of her life. Mayhap forever.
She readied a smile and lifted her head at the sound of familiar footsteps. A sense of urgency bubbled in her veins. If Ranulf were to leave her side, she would not let him go without his knowing where her heart resided. She took hold of his hand, pressing it to her cheek, breathing in his scent of juniper and mint.
Ranulf cleared his throat. “Clarice, come with me.”
She stood and bravely matched his purposeful strides. Her thoughts scattered as she tried to form the words to express her love. To keep him by her side as long as the king would allow.
Ranulf drew back the curtain and led her into the alcove. Clarice curtsied deeply before her king.
With boyish charm and a soldier’s grace, King Henry rose to meet her. Curling his fingers around her fingertips, he bent over the back of her hand. “Not here.” Henry gave a slow, lazy wink. “Too many watching eyes.”
Clarice’s knees trembled. The imagined noose tightened around her neck. “Sire—”
“My gratitude is immense. Sir Ranulf has informed me that you were instrumental in unearthing the culprit of this plot against England. ’Tis within my power to grant you a boon.” He smiled playfully. “Just do not damage my coffers with your request.
“And you,” he said as he turned to Ranulf. “You, too, may request a favor from your king.”
Clarice’s heart thundered within her chest as Ranulf wrapped his hand around her waist. “My king, I would ask of the lady a boon in place of yours.”
Henry’s brows arched and he rose. He braced his feet, his hands behind his back. “State your boon from the lady of Margrave,” he commanded.
Clarice’s breath caught. “In truth, sire?”
“Upon my honor.” Henry flicked his hand through the air. “Now, Ranulf, be quick about it. If the weather holds I must prepare to set sail.”
A pink stain streaked Ranulf’s cheeks. He cleared his throat to form the words that would not come with ease. “Clarice . . .”
She could not watch her love struggle any longer and answered before he finished. “I will.”
“How can you agree when you haven’t given me a chance to ask?”
Clarice reached up and smoothed the wave of auburn from his face. She traced the healing scar that ran into his hair. She smiled back at the man who had proved to her that she really could touch the stars.
“I am listening,” she said.
Ranulf ignored the men who remained around the table. He ignored the king, who watched and listened. He kissed her as if they were the only two people in the crowded tavern.
Then he raised his head and grinned as he paused long enough to let her catch her breath. “Clarice of Margrave, I ask you to accept my love and become my lady of Sedgewic.”
“Here, now,” King Henry said. “’Tis within my means to join your names together.”
Ranulf shook his head. “Sire, I would have a marriage of love or none at all.”
Releasing his hold, he closed his eyes as if he were afraid he would see denial in her gaze. “Clarice, I place it in your hands to deny me or grant my desire.”
“Well, my lady, what say you?” King Henry asked. “First, your request of me?”
Clarice prayed she would not know the king’s ire. “I would ask that you allow this Knight of the Swan to stay here in England and watch over the protection of her people.” She glanced up and swallowed. “You did give your word upon your honor that you would hear my request.”
King Henry’s face flushed, his eyes twinkling with restraint. “So I did.” A ghost of a smile washed over his face before he went on. “And what of your boon to Ranulf? I must hear it before I make my decision.”
Desperate to let Ranulf know that her heart would forever remain his, she pulled out the oddly shaped key from her pocket and held it out for all to see. The swan’s emerald eye winked at all who stood around the table.
With Ranulf’s rapt attention, she began, “Once, I believed this was the key to my freedom. Now I know ’twas meant to lead me to the keeper of my heart.” She placed the key in his palm, curling his fingers around it. “My heart is yours. Care for it, wherever you may be.”
Ranulf pulled her into his arms again. The boisterous voices quieted as one by one they turned to look at the pair. The tavern’s silence broke as Ranulf and Clarice were pulled from their weaving of moonbeams.
King Henry cleared his voice so that all could hear. “It appears your lady has given you her answer.”
Ranulf wrapped his arms around Clarice’s waist and held her as if he were afraid he would have to let go too soon.
“And now I will give you my decision.” King Henry paused, letting the moment drag. Grinning wickedly, he said, “It seems to me that I don’t have the time or coin to spare for the rebuilding and cultivation of the Margrave lands. Ranulf of Sedgewic, make it profitable and I will grant the manor to you upon my return. Watch over my people of England. Ensure ’tis a place where her sons and daughters can lift their heads high and proud.”
Henry kissed the back of Clarice’s hand. “No more word of the Knights of the Swan, my lady.” He dropped a brooch shaped like a swan into her hand. “Unless you need assistance from your king’s elite.”
King Henry lifted his mug of ale. “A toast to eternal love!”
As their cups were raised, the king held Clarice and Ranulf in his gaze and he added, “May there be someone to hold ’til the wee hours of the morn. Someone to love us, despite our faults. Someone to care whether we live or die. And may that someone be ours to love throughout eternity.”
Cheers rang out after the mugs were drained and slammed down on the wooden table.
King Henry winked, then worked his way past the mass of bodies crammed in the room.
Clarice looked up at Ranulf. “Do you regret your decision to stay?”
“Don’t be swayed by our king’s easy charm. He knows that my eyes and ears will be alert to any news, be it evil or good, while he is away.”
“Forever a Knight of the Swan?”
“You have captured my heart, my lady.” Ranulf caressed his lips against the nape of her neck. “I will be a Knight of the Swan all the days of my life, but my love shall forever be yours.”
Clarice wrapped her arms around his waist, leaning into his embrace. “’Tis all I have ever desired.”
If you enjoyed Knight Secrets, be sure not to miss the next book in C.C. Wiley's Knights of the Swan series...
For a Knight of the Swan in 15th century England, falling for the enemy is an act of treason . . .
Orphaned as a young girl, Brigitte de Marnier has learned to live by her instincts. Which doesn’t explain why she accepts protection from a soldier in the service of the enemy crown. But something about Drem Ap Dafydd has her leaning into his strength, and surrendering to his intoxicating kiss, even knowing he is duty bound to destroy her . . .
As a newly appointed Knight of the Swan, Drem is eager to prove his allegiance to the English crown in the battle against France. But in his sheltering arms, bea
utiful Frenchwoman Brigitte arouses in him another instinct—to love, honor, and protect. Then Drem discovers his beloved has a price on her head and he must choose between his vow—and his heart’s desire . . .
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Historical and contemporary romance author C.C. Wiley is a farm girl at heart and now lives in Utah. She tried the city life but soon discovered she likes wide-open spaces, rolling hills, fresh air, blue skies, and a little quiet. It just feels right.
C.C. states that one of the wisest steps she took as a writer with a dream was to join the Romance Writers of America. Soon after joining that organization, she began the arduous task of learning all she could about writing a story. Those lessons continue every day,
She believes there are wonderful, courageous characters waiting for someone to tell their story. It is her hope that each adventurous romance she writes will touch her readers and carry them away to another place and time, where hopes and dreams abound.